


The Cat with a Thousand Names

by EsdiTheQueen



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fantasy Racism, Loss of Parent(s), Novelization, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28434255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EsdiTheQueen/pseuds/EsdiTheQueen
Summary: As soon as he saw her, as soon as he looked at her face, he knew with absolute certainty that this was a child of prophecy. This was a child that had been chosen by the Divines, for reasons unknown to mortals, to change the fate of the world. How he knew this he could not tell you—he did not see her face in dreams or meditation—but he just knew, deep within himself, that it was the truth.-A Skyrim Novelization
Relationships: Brynjolf/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue

It was the 4th of Last Seed, 4E 169, and there’s a trespasser in the moon sugar gardens.

The only information that the guards had gathered was that they were possibly a suthay, and that they had entered the gardens about an hour after midnight. Compared to other nations of Tamriel, there are very few acts in Elsweyr that are truly considered crimes. The concept of private property did not exist to the Khajiit as it did to the Imperials and the Nords and the Elves. If you have need of something and are clever enough to obtain it, it is yours, and if someone who is more clever and more cunning than you gets a hold of it, you say fair play and move on with your life.

But the moon sugar gardens are sacred grounds. Many know the sugar to be the crystallised form of pure moonlight, making it the most holy of substances to the Khajiit, whose livelihood and culture surrounded the moons. To trespass into these gardens, located outside the palace of the mane no less, was a crime against the Divines themselves.

Against the protests of his advisors, Mane Ra’Shia made his way through the gardens accompanied by his guards in the darkness of the early morning. To say this trespasser was tricksy was an understatement. Evading the mane’s personal guard was far from an easy feat, and to continue to so for hours was practically impossible. And it had been a good number of hours, for the first rays of dawn were starting to peak over the eastern horizon.

It was at this time, as Ra’Shia watched over the rising sun, that he finally got a glimpse of her.

In the North-eastern corner of the garden, where the outer wall met the front of the palace, was a small secluded nook, tucked away neatly behind an old forgotten statue and perfectly cast in the shadow of early morning. And within that darkness, shone a pair cold, piercing eyes, staring out at Ra’Shia. And Ra’Shia stared back. And it was so obvious, looking into those eyes, that the search was over, and this trespasser knew it. 

Cornered.

Caught.

When those eyes, which shone a bright pale blue, refused move from the darkness, Ra’Shia stepped slowing closer with his guards at his heel. Gentle, cautious—as one would approach a startled animal. When the light of the guards’ torches reached the dark crevices of the hidden nook, and Ra’Shia could finally, _finally_ see her, what he saw left him stunned.

The girl was suthay, as the guards had suspected, and her fur was short and dark with near invisible tabby striping, with a stark white muzzle. Her ears were long and topped with tufts of fur, and they flicked around in visible anxiety, as did her white-tipped tail. And she was so _young_. The little thing couldn’t have been older than 17, which for the Khajiit—who while not as long lived as the mer lived a good while longer than man—was very young indeed.

But none of that was what mattered.

What mattered was that as soon as he saw her, as soon as he looked at her face, he knew with absolute certainty that this was a child of prophecy. This was a child that had been chosen by the Divines, for reasons unknown to mortals, to change the fate of the world. How he knew this he could not tell you—he did not see her face in dreams or meditation—but he just knew, deep within himself, that it was the truth. And with that divine knowledge he couldn’t help the ache of pity in his heart, for he knew that children of destiny are condemned to tragedy, and as he looked into her eyes, he feared that the harsh claws of fate have already taken this poor kit into its cruel grasp.

The child spoke, and Ra’Shia was brought back to reality, guards at his side and a trespasser at his feet.

“Well, are you going to kill me or not?” There was venom in her tone, a challenge perhaps, and Ra’Shia couldn’t help but smile at her attitude.

“No, I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Like ‘what in the name of the moons are you doing here?’ Or ‘where on Nirn is your family?’ Those sorts of questions?”

His smile widened and his eyes softened, “How about we start with ‘what is your name?’”

The anxious flicking of her tail stopped. Her ears stood up and forward. The tension in her shoulders relaxed and she looked up at him, not with coldness or suspicion, but with curiosity and wonder in her eyes. Yes, this child would change the world, and Ra’Shia was more than happy to act as a guide on her way there.

In a small, timid voice, she answered, “Rijha.”

“Rijha-Daro”

-

It was the 20th of Sun’s Dawn, 4E 201, and Ri’Saad was in Torval.

Ri’Saad absolutely hated Torval.

The jungle air is far too humid, it made his fur all frizzled and matted, and everything was just so uncomfortably damp. He had hated Torval since the first he stepped foot in the city many, many decades ago as a young khajiit who had never before left the dry sands of Rimmen, and he hated it now, at almost 100 years old. If he was lucky and everything went smoothly, he’d be out of the city by morning. But luck was never really his strong suit.

He sat at a tiny cramped desk, on the second floor of some dusty second-rate inn, sorting through papers and books that he was in no mood to deal with while the rest of his caravanning troupe drank and chatted away downstairs in the tavern. There was an open-air window directly in front of where he sat, and through it he could see a building that he was all too familiar with. It was an estate that had belonged to a family of highly influential merchants, although whether they still lived there, he did not know.

The first time he ever set foot on that estate, it was the middle of the night and he had been unwillingly dragged there by someone who was not his brother, but might as well of been for all the time they spent growing up together.

“I just want you to keep watch, that’s all.”

“And I just think you’re mad for doing this, all so you can talk to a girl you met _yesterday_.”

His not-brother grinned at him as he hopped up onto a narrow ledge that decorated the outer wall of the main building, “If you had seen her you would understand. Don’t worry, it’ll only be a few minutes.”

A few minutes turned out to be almost an hour, as was the case the next time they visited, and the next dozen times, until the question was finally asked, “Will you come with us to travel the lengths of Tamriel?” and so the three of them—Ri’Saad, his not-brother, and his not-brother’s lover—left that estate together planning on never seeing it again. The last time Ri’Saad visited that estate, he was alone and grieving, searching for an orphaned child that had disappeared into the night. Needless to say, the humidity wasn’t the only thing he hated about Torval.

His brooding was shortly brought to an end by a knock at the door, and a few moments later a young cathay-raht entered.

“What do you need Khayla?”

“There is someone here who has asked to speak with you, says she’s an old friend of yours.”

He had no ‘old friends’ in Torval.

“Tell her I’m not taking visitors.”

Khayla only nodded in response, and once again Ri’Saad was left alone in his room. Sighing, he stood from the desk, gathering his papers and books, and moved to store them away in his pack. The sun was setting, and if he was to start making tracks in the morning, he needed to be well rested. As he went to set his pack down at end of his bed there was the faintest sound of feet touching the floor behind him. His whiskers twitched, his body tensed, and the fur on the back of his neck stood on end. Someone had climbed in through the window.

Slowly, he took out a small knife that was hidden in the folds of his budi, and he turned—

Only to drop the knife in shock, for standing before him was a ghost. She had grown so much, and yet, she looked just the same as she had as a young kit. The most startling difference were the striking white tattoos that adored her face and neck, the very tiger stripes that were worn by those closest to the mane.

When he finally regained the ability to speak, his voice shook, “Ma’Rijha? It’s… it’s not actually you is it?”

The ghost smiled, and spoke softly, “You know, you can’t refer to me as ‘ma’ anymore, I’m far from a child at this point.”

Ri’Saad took one step forward, and then another, and then another, and then he lifted his hands in a silent question, and she answered with open arms. And then he was holding her, and he was sobbing, because she wasn’t a ghost, she’s real, _she’s real_ , and he’s filled with emotions that he cannot even begin to describe. It took him a little while, but Ri’Saad eventually calmed down and pulled away from her, taking a minute to organise his thoughts. That’s when the paternal instincts kick in.

“Where have you been all this time!? You disappeared without a trace for 32 years! _Mor kha’jay_ I thought you were dead! Why didn’t come and find me sooner? I’m your Godfather for crying out loud!” He gestures towards her tattoos, “And what’s all this about? What in Oblivion have you been doing!?”

Rijha laughed, loud and hearty, and in that moment Ri’Saad couldn’t help but think that she’s was just like her father, she’s just like both of her parents, and instead of the crushing emptiness that usually accompanies thoughts of them, he felt a warm in his heart that he hadn’t felt in decades. She sat him down and told him grand stories of the Mane’s kindness towards her, of training at the Temple of Two-Moons Dance, and eventually becoming an ambassador of Elsweyr on behalf of the Mane. It was all very jarring to hear, if Ri’Saad was being honest, the fact that she had done so much over all these years, and all the while he was none the wiser. Still though, he was proud.

“So, why is it that you’ve decided to turn up here now of all times, it seems you are living very well.”

Rijha hesitated before answering, “I heard through the sugarcane that you would be travelling to Skyrim very soon,” there was a pause, as if she was waiting for confirmation. When none arrived, she continued, “I’d like to go with you.”

Ri’Saad didn’t know what to say, and the silence sat stale in the air. There was so much he didn’t understand. Why here? Why now? He watched as she patiently waited for an answer, her ears and tail flicking around. She was a khajiit in the prime of her life, a grown woman who knew her worth and knew it well—she wouldn’t have her current position if she didn’t—but looking at her, her eyes wide and hopeful, all he could see was small innocent child that he watched grow up, and he knew he couldn’t possibly say no to her.

“We plan to leave in the morning, will you be ready by then?”

She smiled, bright as day, and her voice was full of excitement, “Of course, you can expect to see me back here at the crack of dawn.” She moved to exit back through the window, because of course she would choose that over leaving through the door, she really was exactly like her father. But as she jumped up onto the window sill she paused for a moment, as if in thought, before she turned back towards him.

“I should probably tell you this, before we set out on the road, that when I started training at the Temple I… took up a different name. Start of a new life and all that, you know?”

Ah. That explains why he hasn’t heard a word about her for all this time. “Well, what is it that they call you now?”

“Do’Rirri”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I haven't done a single drop of creative writing in like 3 years, so what better way to get back into it than writing skyrim fanfiction! Yay!
> 
> Some little things I thought I should point out:
> 
> 1\. I headcanon that Khajiit live to be around 150  
> 2\. Mane Ra'Shia is based after a golden tiger, hence why those close to him have tattoos of tiger stripes, also it's just a cool visual to have  
> 3.This fic will probably be very slow to update so just, be prepared for that
> 
> That's pretty much it, thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are super appreciated


	2. Helgen

When Rijha woke up, her first thought is that her head hurts. A lot. The world swayed around her and she can’t move her hands. Slowly, she lifted her head and tries to get her bearings. Forest surrounded her, and in the air hung a heavy fog.

“Hey cat, you’re finally awake, took you long enough.”

Her head snapped towards the Nord sitting in front of her. Oh yes, she was much more awake now. But the world continued to sway, and it is then she realises that she is on a cart. They were at the back of an imperial procession by the looks of it, with a single guard on horseback trailing behind them. There were two other Nords in the cart with them, one gagged and wearing the clothes of a noble, and the other sitting next to her looking rather worse for wear.

“What happened?”

“Imperial ambush, walked right into it, the lot of us.”

Rijha does her best to try and remember, but her head still hurt, and her memory was a little fuzzy. She recalls splitting off from the rest of the caravans a few days prior (was it a few days ago? How long had she been out?) in order to make a trip into Bruma and acquire some warmer clothes that would fit under her light Khajiiti armour, while the others had started to make their way through the Jerall Mountains. Now that she thought about it, where was her armour? Her swords and supplies? Probably on a different cart, there seemed to be quite a few in front of them.

There’s a roar from somewhere in the north. Rijha instinctively flicked her ear towards it. It was obviously something big (a bear? Or a troll perhaps? Skyrim had trolls, right?) but it was very, very distant. She chooses to ignore it, and no one else had heard it in the first place. Their hearing isn’t that good.

The Nord next to her suddenly spoke up, “Damn you Stormcloaks, this is all your fault! If it wasn’t for you and your rebellion, I’d be halfway to Hammerfell by now! “

“Well, we’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, aren’t we horse thief—” The imperial guard driving the cart yells back at them to shut up, but it doesn’t do much to quell their bickering.

“And what’s going on with him, huh? Why the gag?”

“You should mind your tongue, you speak to the true High King of Skyrim, Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Rijha watched the apparent horse thief as he sat up straight, and his eyes widened, whether in shock or fear she couldn’t be certain. Perhaps both. She had heard of Ulfric, and the tales of how he had murdered High King Torygg with nothing but his voice. It was a shame really; she had a few brief encounters with the High King at council gatherings and conventions in Cyrodiil. He was young, and rather inexperienced in the realm of politics, but he had so much potential.

When the horse thief spoke again, his voice was shaking, “Ulfric... but if you’re here… what does that mean for the rest of us?”

Execution. The realisation hits her like a bludgeoning hammer. Her ears started twitching. She wouldn’t be executed, right? Not by the Empire, surely? Surely they wouldn’t just pass her off as some random Khajiit traveller and send her straight to the block with no trial, would they?

 _Alright, breathe. Slowly. In and out again. Think_. This is an Imperial procession, transporting the wanted man in the Empire. There must be someone here rather high up in the legions ranks. And if they’re high in the ranks, there is a decent chance that she’s at least somewhat acquainted with them, being an ambassador and frequent visitor to the Imperial City. As long as someone she knew was here, she would be fine. If there wasn’t, and there was a good chance there wasn’t, because surely she wouldn’t have ended up in this situation if there was someone here that would recognise her, then she would just have to leave her fate in the hands of the Divines.

There was another roar from the north, but it was closer now. A concerning amount closer.

Rijha’s fur bristled as she turned her head towards it, staring out into the dense morning fog. It was still far from them, enough so that she was still the only one who heard it. But it wasn’t how close it was to them she was concerned about. It was how far it was from where the first roar had been. Nothing could move that amount of distance in such a short span of time, unless it was flying, but what creature could possibly fly and also be large enough to produce such a loud call? Nothing that Rijha knew of.

She turned towards her fellow prisoners, “Are there any large flying creatures in Skyrim?” they all look at her like she’s possessed, and she doesn’t really blame them.

The horse thief replied, “We are being carted to our graves and you’re asking— how stupid are you, cat?”

Her ears flicked back against her head, “So you’re not even going to humour me?”

The Stormcloak soldier in front of her bit back, “Listen khajiit, I don’t know what in oblivion you consider humour but your kind—”

“I’d probably say a dragon,” they all turned back to look at the imperial guard stationed behind the cart. Looking at him closer he was clearly also a Nord, which Rijha supposed shouldn’t have surprised her, since she was in Skyrim now, “although they’ve long been dead, you can find their tombs all across the country.”

“So nothing I have to worry about swooping down and carrying me off?”

The guard shook his head, “Nope, what makes you ask?” There was another roar, and this time it was just close enough that they all could hear it now.

“Just curious.” She leaned her head back over the side of the cart so she could speak with the guard without being blocked by the other prisoners, “If it isn’t too much of a bother to you _rakiit_ , may I ask a few more questions?”

“Go ahead.”

“Firstly, what day is it today?”

He seemed to take a moment to think, “Morndas, 17th of First Seed.” She wasn’t out very long then. She remembered that she had started to make her way through the Jeralls sometime yesterday evening, so the ambush must have happened sometime in the night.

“And secondly, who is leading this procession.”

“General Tullius, Military Governor.” Tullius. Rijha let out a sigh of relief. She knew Tullius, not well, but enough that she was certain that she’d be safe. The Divines were on her side today.

“ _Do_. Very good. Thank you, _darr fa_.” The guard only nodded in response.

The gates of a village had started to come into view, and the horse thief looked as if he was on the verge of hysterics. He had hunched over, his shoulders shaking with every heavy breath, and if she looked close enough she could see tears welling up in his eyes. Rijha couldn’t help but feel pity for the man. His words and attitude may have been harsh, but he was a trapped fox surrounded by wolves, one must not blame him for biting back. Execution was a heavy punishment for a poorly done theft. Perhaps she could convince Tullius to let him off with some jail time.

“Do you want some advice _juma_?”

“What kind of advice, cat?”

“Take a long, deep breath, and have patience, you may find that the divines grant you mercy.”

He sneered at her, “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind when they put my head on the block.”

She huffed and turned to watch as the gates passed over them. There were imperial soldiers everywhere. Standing sentry on the walls, patrolling the streets; the red banners of the Empire fluttered in the wind above. Ahead of them someone had broken off from the procession, and it took only a moment before Rijha realised that it was Tullius.

He had stopped to speak with an Altmer, a member of Thalmor judging by their outfit. Was that Ambassador Elenwen? _Mor khajay_ , if Elenwen saw her here she’d never hear the end of it. As if by some cruel joke of fate, Elenwen decided to look over Tullius’ shoulder just as their cart was passing by. She glanced over Rijha, then did a double take, but her face showed only the slightest hint of surprise. Rijha sat as straight as she could and stared daggers right at her. _Say something, get me out of this_. Elenwen, without a hint of remorse, turned back to Tullius as if nothing had happened. _Bitch_.

They continued down the path, into the village proper, and soon Tullius and Elenwen were out of sight. _Ziss. It’s fine, everything will be fine. Breathe. Relax. Sit back and enjoy the view_. She looked around at the buildings as they rolled past. Her only exposure to Nordic architecture was Bruma, and even then, Bruma was nowhere near this… rustic, was the kindest way to put it. Perhaps it was just because this was a smaller village, and the larger settlements were a bit less sad. She hoped that was the case.

The Stormcloak soldier spoke, to who she was not quite sure, “This is Helgen, I used to be sweet on a girl from here.” He continued on, something about mead with juniper berries, but Rijha mostly tuned him out. She watched as a man ushered his son back into their house, and before she knew it the cart had stopped. They all shuffled off, the guard who had ridden behind them now stood with book and quill in hand, and a captain beside him.

The captain, a fairly young Nord woman, shouted much louder than was necessary, “Step towards the block when your name is called, one at a time!”

The horse thief, who was stood directly in front of her, was shaking like a leaf. Slowing, Rijha leaned forward and whispered, “Remember _juma_ , patience.” He let out a shaky breath and stood a little taller. He still looked like a startled little fox, but he was trying.

The guard called, “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” Ulfric stepped forward.

“Rolaf of Riverwood.” Rolaf, the Stormcloak soldier, stepped forward.

“Lokir of Rorikstead.” Lokir, the thief, stood still. He glanced towards the block, then back up the path that they had come down. _Don’t._ And then he was running. There was a call for archers. Arrows shot through the air. And then he was dead on the ground. The whole affair was over the matter of seconds; Rijha couldn’t help her heavy sigh of disappointment. Poor little fox.

The guard looked down at his list, up at her, and then back down to the list, “What’s your name, Khajiit?”

“Do’Rirri, of Torval.” Rijha looked to the captain in search of any sign of recognition at her name. The captain just stared back blankly.

The guard turned to his superior, “She’s not on the list, Captain.”

Someone called out that the headsman was ready, it seemed that they were going to start the executions without Tullius present. Rijha feels like that might be against protocol.

“Doesn’t matter, send her to the block anyway.” That was definitely against protocol. The guard gave her an apologetic look, before gesturing for her to follow the captain and stand with the other prisoners.

Before them stood a priestess, and at the command of the captain, began to them their final rites.

Until one of the Stormcloak soldiers decided to interrupt; disrespectful, the lot of them, “For the love of Talos, shut up and just get this over with.” The soldier stepped forward to stand at the block, where the captain pushed him down to his knees, and rested his head on the block, “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” With that, the headsman’s axe swung down. Rijha flinched. At least it was a clean cut.

“Next, the khajiit!”

Rijha felt a stab of ice in her chest. She looked up the path, and when she saw nothing but the still warm corpse of Lokir being dragged away by soldiers, began to walk towards the block. She kept her head high, and to the rhythm of her own padding feet, spoke a prayer under her breath.

_Iya alija, dan_

_ahzirr jer dalaa,_

_alsaka ahzirr haith_

_ba jer zatiit_.

Her ear flicked towards the sound of a horse’s whinny.

“Halt! Release her this instant!”

Rijha thought she might cry.

She tilted her head towards Tullius as someone moved to cuts the ropes around her hands, and spoke in the lightest tone she could manage, “You know, General, I’ve had much better welcoming parties.”

Tullius dismounted his horse and jogged up to her, “Ambassador Do’Rirri, I cannot express my apologies enough, I assure you this was all a terrible mistake.”

Her restrains now gone, she placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. If anyone made a comment on her shaking, she would just blame the cold, “Don’t worry yourself too much General, I understand. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting to reach civilisation before sundown, if anything you’ve helped me save some time.”

“Your optimism is truly admirable, Ambassador. Come, let us retrieve your equipment, it should be on the supply cart. Captain, continue on, I’ll speak to you afterwards.”

“As you say, General Tullius.”

Rijha couldn’t see the captain’s face as she walked off with Tullius, and to look back would break her aloof façade, but just imagining it made her feel smug. _That should teach you a lesson about breaking protocol_. They had barely made it as far up the path as Lokir had when she heard the roar again, and it sounded like it was right on top of them. That made her stop and turn. Most seemed to pay no mind to it, but she and the guard shared a concerned glace.

Tullius turned back towards her, “Ambassador? Is everything alright?”

She hears the beating of wings and followed the sound as it circled around the village. Through the fog she caught a glimpse of a large, black form.

“Everyone needs to find shelter, now.”

“What—”

The black form swooped down from the sky and landed atop a tower overlooking the execution site and it was unmistakably, undeniably, a dragon. The way its claws and horns twisted and hooked, and how the red of its eyes glowed amongst a sea of black scales, one would think they were looking at death itself. The roar it let out was deafening. The sky shifted, clouds swirled and darkened like a whirlpool of murky water, and a blazing shower of meteors fell to the earth. The entirely of Helgen fell into chaos.

Another bellowing roar, and Rijha could swear it sounded like it was speaking words.

“ _Fus… Ro Dah_!”

A wave of force pushed back everything and everyone within proximity to the beast. The headsman was so close to it that he was dead the moment he hit the ground. Tullius rushed past her, sword drawn, “Take cover Ambassador, we’ll deal with this as best we can.”

Rijha hesitated. It didn’t feel right to run and hide while everyone else risked their lives against a dragon of all things, but right now she was useless. She didn’t have her swords, didn’t even know where they were, and while a khajiit is never truly unarmed she doubted her claws would be any use here. So, she turned and fled to the nearest tower that wasn’t being used as a perch by an _actual real dragon_. Rijha was still trying to get her head around that.

She heard the beast lift off into the air and let out another great shout, sending one of the carts flying, and it slammed straight into the doorway of the tower just as she managed to get inside.

“Well, look who’s come to join us.”

Rijha looked up to see Rolaf, Ulfric, and what seemed like the rest of the prisoners already taking cover. In the initial mania of the attack, she failed to notice the Stormcloaks breaking free of their restraints and making their escape. Rolaf, who had been tolerable of her at first, was now completely hostile.

“Should’ve known you were one of those damn imperials, shame General Tullius showed up when he did, would’ve been quite a show for them to behead one of their own.”

“It seems your priorities are as skewed as your morals; can’t you see there are bigger things to worry about?”

Before Rolaf could retort, Jarl Ulfric spoke, “Listen to the khajiit Rolaf, she is surprising civilised for one of her kind.”

“As are you.”

The Jarl looked down at her. He was a full head taller than her, but she wouldn’t let that intimidate her, “Besides, she can keep track of the beast better than any of us.”

Rijha couldn’t help but bare her teeth. Of course, he saw her as a useful tool as opposed to a person. The tower shook as the dragon continued its rampage. She was starting to smell burnt wood and flesh. They had to get moving, every second spent here was a second closer to death with that dragon around. With the doorway blocked, the only way was up, and so up they went. Rijha listened closely as the beast made a circuit around the village. She listened as it flew closer and closer, until it sounded like it was right on the other side of the brick—

There was a soldier up in front of her, and she grabbed him by the scruff of his collar, pulling him down as the dragon smashed through the side of the tower. Stormcloak or not, she wasn’t going to let someone die and live with blood on her hands.

The dragon let out a great jet of fire into the tower, before taking off again, leaving a gaping hole in the wall. Below her she can see a building where one half of the roof had caved in, exposing the top floor. Parts of the building were on fire, but it wasn’t so bad that one could not make it out of there alive, and she could definitely make the jump. Before anyone could question her or protest, she leaped.

And only slightly messed up the landing. She was much better at that when she was younger.

Slipping through broken floorboards and a hole in the wall, she made her way back out into the streets of Helgen. She couldn’t have been in that tower for more than 2 minutes, and yet that was enough time for the village to fall into absolute carnage. Many of the buildings were completely destroyed, and those few that were still standing had caught ablaze. The whole place stank of death. Further up the path the dragon landed, right in front of the young boy she had seen when they were being carted into the village. A little way away the guard (who, if they both make it out of this alive, she really needs to ask after his name) was trying to urge the boy towards him, into the cover of one of the demolished houses with one of the civilians.

But the boy stood completely paralysed. The dragon reared back its head, ready to send down another burst of flame. Without much thought, Rijha ran, grabbing a large imperial shield that had been abandoned on the side of the street, and raised it up to block the barrage of fire while pulling the boy down into a protective hold. The metal of the shield glowed a molten red under the extreme heat, and Rijha did her best to ignore the searing pain in her arm.

It felt like an eternity before the fire receded, and the moment it did, she looked down to the boy in her arms.

“Run.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, and immediately dashed off towards the guard.

Rijha stood where she was and poised her shield, adrenaline rushing through her veins, heckles raised. The dragon let out a low growl at her. She hissed back. The beast surged forward, its jaws wide open. Without hesitation she threw the shield straight into its gaping maw, using the distraction to back away and sprint into cover with the others. Rijha turned just in time to watch as the dragon snapped down on the shield, instantly shattering it like glass, before taking off into the air again.

“Are you alright, Miss Ambassador?”

Rijha looked back at the guard and nodded despite the painful throbbing in her arm, “Yes I’m fine, but we have to move.”

“Of course. Gunnar,” He turned towards the civilian man, “take care of Haming, me and the Ambassador must go and find General Tullius.”

Gunnar nodded in understanding, “Gods guide you, Hadvar.”

Hadvar looked back at her, “Follow me, Miss Ambassador."

They made their way across the street and through what used to be a back alley. Rijha did her best to focus on moving forward, on staying alive, instead of dwelling on the blood and the ash and _mor khajay how many people have already died, how many more will die before the damned beast is sated_? She’s dragged out of her thoughts as the black terror swooped back down and landed on the wall above them. By some divine miracle it didn’t notice them right below it, its wing hung down so close to her that she could touch it, and a moment later it flew off again. _Tonsh Sharraoriit_.

Eventually they came upon Tullius with a small group of imperial soldiers, who were sending volley after volley of fireballs up at the dragon. When the General turned to them, he wasted no time with his command.

“Hadvar! Quickly, we’re leaving! Take the Ambassador into the keep and make your way to safety,” Hadvar nodded in response, “Abassador Do’Rirri, please, go to Whiterun and speak with Jarl Balgruuf, he needs to know what’s happened here.”

Rijha couldn’t help but worry as to why he was asking this of her specifically, did he really think that there was such a low chance of anyone else escaping here alive? Regardless, she couldn’t refuse his request.

“I’ll do what I can General.”

With that, she and Hadvar were running again, off towards the keep. They had just reached the door when she heard it.

In a deep rumbling voice, clear as day, “ _Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki!_ ”

Rijha turned back and locked eyes with the dragon. It was hovering far above the village, but she knew it was looking right at her, staring straight into her soul, its gleaming red eyes burning with hatred. In this moment, the fear that she had felt as she walked towards execution block seemed laughably trivial. Right here, right now, Rijha was filled with complete unbridled terror.

A hand fell on her shoulder, “Miss Ambassador, please, we must get inside.” She let Hadvar guide her through the doorway, but not without one final glace back at the village, devastated and ruined, and the dark beast responsible for it all.

The door closed.

Rijha took a deep breath. Then another.

They had made it.

They were safe.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta'agra Translations:  
> Do - Good  
> Darr fa - Kind one  
> Juma - Fox  
> Rijha's prayer - Great gods, give us your mercy, let us act as your helper.  
> Tonsh Sharraoriit - Thank Lady Luck  
> Mor khajay - Dark moons (general curse)  
> Ziss - (general curse)
> 
> Dovahzul Translations:  
> Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki - your soul will feed my hunger
> 
> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated.


	3. Out of The Flames

“That was quite the feat, running out in front of a dragon.”

She looked up at Hadvar, who was rummaging through a bedside cabinet. When they had entered the keep they had found themselves inside some sort of living quarters, with beds on one side and several tables and chairs set up on the other. She was currently sat at one of said tables, casting the warm glow of restoration magic on her burnt arm. Rijha was never very good at magic, but she knew enough to handle minor injuries, and while the pain in her arm hadn’t fully subsided, she was confident that she could now handle a weapon without much issue. Pulling the sleeve of her shirt back down to her wrist, she stood.

“I’ll be honest with you, I really wasn’t thinking straight when I did that.”

“Doesn’t make it any less impressive. I’m sure any other person of politics would have started running in the other direction.”

“Well,” she made her way over towards him, “It’s a good thing I was a fighter before I was an ambassador.” Before he could comment she asked, “Now what is it that you’re searching for?”

“Key to the warden’s chest over there,” he gestured toward the corner of the room. There was indeed a chest there, “should be some equipment inside, help keep you protected.”

Rijha hummed in response. She wandered towards one of the cabinets and started looking through it. Inside the second to last drawer, she found a set of hairpins. _Bingo_. She silently thanked the gods that while she had been stripped of all her armour and weapons, the imperial soldiers had decided to leave her thin leather leg bracers on. Not only did the bracers help keep the end of her pants tucked in and out of the way (because while being a suthay granted many great advantages, being digitigrade made most leg and footwear a nightmare) but they also provided a very convenient hiding place for a tension wrench.

Which she only used for emergencies, of course.

She crouched down in front of the warden’s chest, before carefully inserting the wrench and one of the hairpins. Whatever was in this chest couldn’t be that valuable, because the lock was laughably cheap and simple. The pins clicked into place and the wrench turned. She didn’t even break a single hairpin.

Opening the chest, Rijha looked back to see Hadvar staring at her. She supressed a sigh. _Here we go_.

“Where did you learn to pick locks?”

“Oh, didn’t you know, all khajiit are born knowing how to pick locks.”

The sarcasm went right over his head, bless him, and his eyes widened in surprise, “Really?!”

“No, of course not,” She pulled out the contents of the chest, “my father taught me when I was a young girl, said it was a good skill to have if I found myself in a bad situation.”

“Like when you get caught up in a dragon attack.”

Rijha huffed out a laugh, “Somehow I don’t really think that’s what he had in mind.”

She took a good look at what she had taken out. There was a lightweight imperial cuirass with pteruges lining the waist, alongside an iron sword and scabbard, an empty pack, and a pair of imperial boots that Rijha quietly shoved to the side. She donned the cuirass, tightening the buckles as much as she could. It was still a bit loose on her, but it was made for a human man, not a lithe khajiit woman, so all things considered it could’ve fit a lot worse. Then she attached the scabbard at her waist and slung the pack over her shoulder, before unsheathing the sword to test its weight. Heavier than what she was used to, but manageable.

There was also a key, which she handed to Hadvar.

“Shall we get going then?”

He took the key and moved towards the door, “Of course, Miss Ambassador.”

Rijha wrinkled her nose a little. She was never particularly fond of being called ‘Miss Ambassador’. It made her feel old, which in all fairness, compared to Hadvar she was, but even then it just didn’t feel right.

“Your name was Hadvar, yes? Just for the record, you can call me Do’Rirri.”

He paused for a moment before replying, “Whatever you say… Do’Rirri.”

They made their way deeper into Helgen keep. It was an old structure, judging by all the moss and eroded brickwork. There was rumbling coming from above, no doubt from the dragon’s continued rampage. They eventually reached a circular room blocked off from a wooden gate, from which the sound of conversation could be heard.

Stormcloaks.

Hadvar made his way to open the gate, “Perhaps we can reason with them.”

Rijha strongly doubted that. The Stormcloaks made it pretty clear when they were trapped in the tower that they would’ve preferred her dead. If Ulfric hadn’t convinced them to stand down she’s sure that she would have never made it out of that tower alive. Predictably, as soon as they walked in the sound of weapons being drawn echoed around the room.

There was two of them, a man and a woman, and the former charged towards her, battle axe in hand. Rijha dodged to the side as the axe swung down, producing a resounding ring as steel hit the stone floor. The impact caused the Stormcloak to stagger, providing an opening for Rijha to manoeuvre behind him and slam the pommel of her sword between his shoulder blades, knocking him unconscious. She heard the sound of metal piercing flesh, and turned to see that Hadvar had ran his blade through the woman’s chest. Rijha winced.

Hadvar withdrew his sword, not bothering to wipe off the blood before looking down at the Stormcloak Rijha had knocked out. He was prone and still, but still clearly alive. The same could not be said for his poor comrade.

“Not one for killing, are you?”

“Can’t say I am.”

He paused in thought, “Why don’t you go on ahead, I’ll catch up in a moment.”

Rijha looked between the Stormcloak on the ground and the bloody sword in Hadvar’s hand. She sucked in breath and walked through the door opposite to where they came from into the next corridor. Behind her the sound of a blade tearing into flesh was unbearably loud to her sensitive hearing. It was honestly worse, not being able to see it. It made the mind run wild.

She pushed down the bile rising in her throat as Hadvar came up to walk beside her.

“They were due to be executed anyway, it’s not much of a loss.”

“It doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with being a little… soft,” The way he said it indicated otherwise, “Is that why you quit being a fighter? Because you couldn’t bring yourself to kill someone?”

“No. I was a guard, mostly did escort work, so it wasn’t exactly the bloodiest of jobs. It was quite a satisfying line of work, actually.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t really a lie either.

Hadvar frowned, “Why did you choose to become an ambassador then?”

Rijha didn’t even glance up at him as she spoke.

“I didn’t.”

They didn’t make much more conversation as they made their way through the rest of Helgen keep. In one of the storerooms Rijha found a second iron sword, which she attached to the other side of her waist belt. Hadvar made a comment about how dual wielding is a poor choice for defence, and she quipped back that defence is only important if you’re bad at dodging. When they reached the torture chamber, Rijha kept her eyes forward and marched through to the next room, ignoring the stench of corpses both old and fresh.

They eventually reached a collapsed section of the wall, most likely brought down by the constant rumbling caused by the dragon’s endless reign of havoc above, which lead down into a natural cavern. The further down they went the more cobwebs lined the walls and ceiling, and Rijha began to hear the sound of dozens of skittering feet. It was no surprise then when they stumbled upon a spider nest. Ri’saad had warned her about the giant spiders, but she had still underestimated just how large they were. She had expected them to be about the size of the rats that infested practically every corner of Cyrodiil, or perhaps a mud crab, but these things were as big as a dog. Rijha didn’t hesitate to slash and spear at the nasty creatures, and every awful squelch as her swords cut into their bodies caused her skin to crawl.

She really hoped that this was as big as they got.

They made it past the spider nest, and Rijha could tell that they were close to the exit. She could hear the distant chattering of birds, smell the sharp scent of pine, and the soft whisper of a breeze running down the cavern made her whiskers twitch. There was also something else, a deep, rumbling snore and a musky smell that was distinctly ursine.

She turned to Hadvar and whispered, “Bear.”

His expression was sour, and he had his hand to the wall as he struggled to navigate through the dark passageway, “What should we do?”

“Just stick to the wall and stay quiet, we should be able to sneak past.”

“I’m not exactly a stealthy person.”

“Well then say a prayer to Lady Luck and hope for the best.”

Slowly and carefully, they edged forward into the large cave that was the bear’s den. Even with her _tenurr vakona_ , her ability to look through the darkness, it was difficult for Rijha to make out the shape of the creature, as its dark fur camouflaged against the stone of the cavern. Behind her the sound of Hadvar’s footsteps were deafeningly loud, to her anyway, so it was a genuine miracle that the bear only stirred twice as they snuck past.

When they rounded a corner into another narrow passage, Hadvar let out the loudest sigh Rijha had ever heard. He had been holding his breath the entire time it seemed.

“How in oblivion do you do that?”

Rijha feigned ignorance, “Do what?”

“Stay so damn quiet? I almost forgot that you were even there.”

She huffed, “Well my furstock is quite well known for being light-footed, so I guess it’s just innate.”

Hadvar’s voice was laced with confusion, “Your… what?”

“You know, all the different forms of khajiit; the cathay, the alfiq, the ohmes and so on. I’m a suthay myself.”

He stayed silent for a few moments, before realisation bloomed across his face, “Oh! That’s why you have weird legs, right?”

Rijha cringed, “Yes, that’s why I have… weird legs.”

Finally, after all the Stormcloaks and spiders and bears, they made it out into the open air. Rijha sucked in a breath at the vista before her. The clouds had cleared and the sun was high in the eastern sky (was it really still only morning?) illuminating the light coating of snow that covered everything in sight. A forest of pine stood sentry over the land, green soldiers that stuck out amongst the white, and in the distance grand grey mountains towered up to the heavens. The air was cold and the breeze was biting. She shivered.

It was like she had walked into a painting.

The serenity of it all was interrupted by a horrid roar, as the damned beast that ravaged Helgen soared overhead, retreating to places unknown.

When it disappeared from view Hadvar spoke up, “We should get going, don’t want to be here if it decides to come back. If we’re quick we can make it to Riverwood just after midday, it’s the closest village and I have family there.”

Rijha gestured for him to walk ahead of her, “Lead the way, _rakiit_.”

“What does that mean anyway? Rah-keet. You called me it before when you were on that cart.”

“Soldier.”

“Ah.”

The road towards Riverwood led them down into a valley, where the snow melted into lush green grass. Rijha could hear the rushing channel of water that cut between the hills, presumably the village’s namesake, and on the other side of the valley, way up on the mountainside, was a ruin consisting of great large arches. It was rather majestic, standing solitary amongst the craggy rock.

“That’s Bleak Falls Barrow,” Hadvar had obviously caught her staring at it, “used to give me nightmares as a kid, draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window, that sort of thing.”

“Draugr?”

“Ancient Nord warriors that refused to die. Nasty things they are.”

“Worse than those giant spiders?”

“Much worse, trust me, you don’t want to run into one of them.”

Rijha grimaced. Suddenly the ruin didn’t seem so majestic anymore.

As they travelled further down the road towards the river, they came across three tall carved stones. The Guardian Stones, Hadvar called them, “They’re three of the thirteen standing stones in Skyrim, there’s one for each constellation.” Surely enough, each of the three stones was marked with one of the guardian constellations; the Warrior, the Mage, and the Thief.

She couldn’t help but scoff, “Do people really still believe in all that astrology nonsense?”

“You don’t?”

Rijha glared at the thief stone, “ _Dov_ , no. Perhaps I did when I was young, but not anymore.” She turned to continue down the path. Hadvar followed.

“How old are you anyway? I mean— I’m not trying to be rude or anything, just curious.”

“49.”

Hadvar came to a stop behind her, and his voice cracked as he blurted, “49? Really?”

She laughed, “Don’t sound so shocked, it’s not that old for a Khajiit. We just get a lot less adventurous after a certain age, so it’s only the younger ones that tend to travel.” It was also the case that Khajiit often die a lot younger outside of Elsweyr, but she decided it best not to mention that.

He jogged up to walk at her side, “It’s not that I think you’re old, I just… wouldn’t have guessed that from looking at you.”

“Well, what would you have guessed?”

Hadvar opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t seem to find a good answer, so he shut it and looked away in embarrassment. Rijha couldn’t help but laugh at the poor thing.

Just as Hadvar had expected, by the time they reached Riverwood the sun had reached its peak up above them. It was smaller than Helgen, and much more rural, with no outer wall connecting the gateways. A few people meandered about, poultry waddled across the road, and further up a child laughed playfully as they chased their dog around. The first building on the left appeared to be a blacksmith, the sound of clanking metal ringing out into the air as a Nordic man worked the anvil. It was this man that Hadvar immediately approached.

“Uncle Alvor! Hello!”

The man, Alvor, paused his work as they approached, “Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave—” He took a closer look at them, wary and scuffed from their time in Helgen, “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? And who’s this?”

“Uncle, I’m fine. This is Do’Rirri, she’s a friend. Come on, let’s go inside, I’ll tell you everything.”

Alvor was hesitant, understandably, but regardless he gestured for them to follow him into the house. It was one large open room, with two beds, a double and a single, and a living space between them. The hearth and dining table took up the left side of the room, with a staircase on the far-left wall leading down into the basement. Various furs and hunting trophies hung from the walls, and the smell of stew simmering on the fire wafted through the air. Rijha was suddenly hit with a wave of hunger.

“Sigrid! We have company!”

Sigrid, Alvor’s wife presumably, came up the staircase and took one look at them before immediately ushering them to the table, “Ah, Hadvar! We’ve been so worried about you! Come, sit, both of you, I’m just finishing up some lunch.”

Rijha was quick to remove her cuirass and swords before sitting down, but Hadvar didn’t even bother. She had the urge to tut at him like her mentors in Torval did to her when she was young and in training.

“Must have been uncomfortable wearing that cuirass, it was practically hanging off of you, can’t blame you for wanting it off.”

She looked up at Alvor, before she remembered _ah yes, cultural differences_ , “I won’t lie, it wasn’t the best… but also we khajiit consider it rude to be armed while accepting hospitality in another’s home.”

Alvor laughed, “You khajiit sure have some strange rules you live by,” Rijha thought it best not to comment, “now then, tell me why it is that you two are here looking you lost an argument with a bear?”

She muttered under her breath, “The bear was the least of our problems.”

“Well, you know I was assigned to General Tullius’s guard, right? We had stopped in Helgen dealing with prisoners, and Do’Rirri had just arrived from Cyrodiil; she’s an ambassador, you see,” Sigrid let out an ‘ooh’ somewhere behind her, but Rijha was mostly thankful that he didn’t mention that she was mistaken for one of the prisoners, “and then… I don’t know how else to say this but, Helgen was under attack.”

“By what?”

“A dragon.”

Alvor looked at Hadvar like he had grown a pair of horns, “A dragon? Are you drunk boy?”

The laugh Rijha let out was completely humourless, “Unless you can think of any other giant lizards that can fly around and breathe fire, we’re pretty sure that it was a dragon.” Alvor’s brow creased at that.

“Well, what happened after that?”

“Not much worth telling, we escaped through the keep and the dragon flew off somewhere to the north. I thought you might be able to help us out, you know; food, supplies, a place to stay.”

“Of course, we’ll help you in any way we can.”

Sigrid started setting down bowls of stew on the table, and Rijha gave her a small thanks.

“Sorry if it’s not quite what you’re used to, Ambassador.” Sigrid’s tone was light, Rijha wasn’t sure if she had been fully paying attention to their conversation, but after the morning she’d had, she appreciated the playfulness.

“Ah, as long as it’s warm I have nothing to complain about.”

“Not used to the cold eh? Bless. I’m sure the Riverwood Trader stocks some nice wool cloaks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I have a few septims to spare.”

Sigrid moved to call someone up from the basement. Hadvar was practically inhaling his food, and only paused to ask, “You said you were from Torval, that’s in the southern state of Elsweyr, right?”

“Yes, it’s the capital of Pellitine, not too far from the Valenwood border.” There was pattering of small feet running up the stairs.

“And you’ve lived there your whole life?” Alvor asked.

“No, only for the past 32 years, I actually grew up in Cyrodiil.”

“32 years is still a long time.”

The pattering stopped, and Rijha looked up to see a young girl, probably 10 or 11, standing at the top of the staircase. The girl looked at her like she had never seen a khajjit before. She probably hadn’t, in all honesty. Her gaze only moved from Rijha when Sigrid cleared her throat, “Dorthe, stop staring at our guest and sit down, your food will get cold.”

Dorthe stood a moment longer, before succumbing to Sigrid’s pointed glare and sitting at the table next to Rijha, who leant down slightly to assure, “I don’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Dorthe smiled a little at that.

Their conversation continued as Alvor enquired, “Cyrodiil… I’m guessing either Bravil or Leyawiin, then?” Rijha couldn’t fault him for the guess, both cities had fairly large Khajiit populations.

“No actually, my family were caravanners, we did a circuit from the Imperial City down to Skingrad, then Chorrol, Bruma, Cheydinhal, then back to Imperial City.”

Hadvar let out a low whistle, “That’s a big circuit.”

“We were pretty much the only caravan in Cyrodiil back then.”

“So do you know Ri’Saad? I saw him and his group pass through here a few days ago while I was working.”

Rijha shouldn’t have been surprised to hear that, but she was, “Yes, he was very good friends with my parents, my father especially, they were practically brothers.”

Alvor only hummed in response. The rest of their meal passed in relative quiet, Alvor and Sigrid occasionally questioning Hadvar on his time in the legion. Dorthe would constantly glace up at Rijha, but she stayed quiet. Whether she was too shy to say anything or just trying to be polite and not speak out of turn, Rijha couldn’t tell.

After they finished eating Rijha moved to help to clean up, despite Sigrid’s insistence that she needn’t worry about it, “You’re our guest, and any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of ours. You should make yourself at home, get comfortable.”

Rijha really wished that she could but…

“I appreciate your hospitality, I really do, but I must leave as soon as possible, General Tullius told me to seek out Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun and inform him of what happened in Helgen.”

That caught Alvor’s attention, “Jarl Balgruuf… of course someone needs to tell him, why didn’t I think of that? Though you must know that Whiterun is almost a full day’s travel from here on foot, if you leave now you won’t arrive until late into the night.”

“Travelling through the night is no issue for me.”

Alvor stewed in thought for a moment before moving to one of the cabinets in the living space and taking out something that he threw in Rijha’s direction. The object jingled when she caught it, and she realised that it was a coinpurse.

“There’s 100 septims in there, will that be enough to last you for a while?” Rijha didn’t know what to say. Ri’Saad told her that the people of Skyrim often kept to their own, and she hadn’t expected such kindness from someone she had known for barely an hour.

“Yes, this is more than enough. _Tonsh jer_ , thank you.”

“I’m certain I have some leather armour lying around that’ll fit you a lot better then that Imperial cuirass. You can head down to the Riverwood Trader while I go look, it’s right across the street from here.”

“Your generosity will not be forgotten, friend.” She meant it, with all her being.

As she left the house Sigrid called out to her, “Don’t forget to buy a cloak!” Rijha smiled, and almost forgot about all the terror and destruction she experienced mere hours ago.

The Riverwood Trader was a small store, with a second floor were Rijha presumed the owner lived, as was the case with many shops that were multistorey. When she entered the two Imperials behind the counter paid no mind to her, as they were busy bickering away. In one corner of the store there was a rack with cloaks hanging from it. Rijha went and tested the fabric of a nice muted dark blue one. The wool was thick and clearly high quality.

“Well one of us has to do something!”

She threw the cape around her shoulders and stood before the nearby looking glass. It was a good size, long enough to cover her legs, but not so long that it would hinder her movement too much.

“I said no! No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!”

She folded up the cape and moved to look at the shelves. There was a set of lockpicks, which reminded her of when she and Hadvar first entered Helgen keep. Rijha doubted she’d use them much, but they might be useful at some point. Better than hairpins, anyway.

“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!”

There was also an empty journal, and a quill and ink set meant for travelling. Might be nice to be able to write some things down.

“We are done talking about this.”

There was a huff, and one of the Imperials, a woman, stormed past Rijha as she made her way to the counter. Only then did the man behind it notice she was there, and he became flushed with embarrassment, “Ah, sorry you had to hear that.”

“No worries friend, how much for one of those minor healing potions back there?”

“17 septims.”

“I’ll take one.” He nodded and moved to the shelves behind him, “So did you lose something? Couldn’t help but hear you mention thief-chasing.”

The man paused as he pulled down one of the potions, “Uh yes, unfortunately. It was only one thing though, a dragon claw ornament made of solid gold.” That made Rijha cringe.

“That’s quite the loss.”

“No need to tell me that.” He placed the potion on the counter and began looking through the other wares she placed on the table.

“Well, if I catch a glimpse of it in my travels I’ll let you know.” It was just a platitude and they both knew it, as he just nodded in response.

“That’ll be 28 septims.”

When she entered back into Alvor and Sigrid’s house she could see that Alvor did in fact find her a better cuirass. It fit very snugly over her clothes, although the leather was a bit stiff from lack of wear. Alvor had also brought out a map of Skyrim, with all the cities and towns marked down.

“To reach Whiterun you just have to cross the river and kept heading north. You’ll know when you see it, trust me. Once you’re in the city just keep heading up the hill, the Jarl’s palace is right at the top.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Alvor.”

“There’s no need to thank me. All I ask is that you do one favour.”

“Anything.”

“Ask the Jarl to send some guards down here, Riverwood is completely defenceless as it is, and there’s dragons on the loose we’ll need all the protection we can get.”

Rijha nodded, “You have my word.”

She secured her new cloak around her shoulders, and made her way down towards the northern gate with Hadvar at her side.

“You know, I could accompany you up to Whiterun. There’s a lot of wolves on the path, especially at night, and even though they’re pretty relaxed about the presence of Khajiit you might have an easier time getting into the city if you have someone with you.”

“Thank you for the offer, but I can handle myself.”

“But—”

“Besides, you heard your uncle,” They paused when they reached the gate, “Riverwood has no defence. It’s best if you stay here in case something happens.” Hadvar looked as if he wanted to protest, but he eventually sighed in defeat.

“You’re right, Miss Ambassador.”

“Do’Rirri.”

“Of course, Do’Rirri. Safe travels, friend.”

“ _Fede hirsinith_.”

And then she was off, heading north towards Whiterun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta'agra translations:  
> Tenurr vankona- Night vision  
> Dov- No  
> Tonsh jer- Thank you  
> Fede hirsinith- Swift hunting


	4. Jarls and Barrows

Despite Hadvar’s warnings of wolves on the path to Whiterun, Rijha had yet to see even a glance of one, though she could hear them howling in the distance. She wondered if perhaps Hadvar had been exaggerating the danger, or perhaps the wolves, completely attuned to nature as all animals were, could sense that something was wrong. That there was something bigger, something more terrible and powerful than their petty souls could ever hope to be, somewhere out there in the world.

Even Rijha, who was not nearly as in touch with the wilds, could feel the strange shift in the air. It’s what kept her eyes glued to the skies, despite knowing that if the beast were to appear, she would hear it long before she saw it.

She watched as the sky faded from blue and white, to shades of orange and red, then finally to inky black, heavily speckled with stars. They were much brighter, out here in the wilderness. The forest opened out into grassy plains, where Rijha could see Whiterun in the distance. Alvor wasn’t lying when he said she’d know it when she saw it. The city stood atop a lone hill, towering over the landscape, distant firelight illuminating the shape of buildings and walls. Outside of the city walls was mostly farmland, with irrigation being drawn from the river that flowed up to the north.

As she walked past the farms Rijha could see the city stables up ahead. Across from the stables was a small camp, dimly lit by a dying fire, and the silhouette of a khajiit sat keeping watch. Rijha broke out into a sprint.

“Ri’Saad!” The silhouette shifted as his head snapped towards her, and then he stood, moving to meet her as she ran into the light.

“ _Rajhin kodesh_! Rij— Rirri, where have you been, child? You were supposed to be here hours ago! What happened to your armour?”

“ _Nakomoh_ , please, stay calm. I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first I need to go speak to the Jarl.”

“The Jarl? Why would you ever need to speak to him? Rirri, what happened?”

Rijha was already heading toward the path that led to the gates of Whiterun, “I won’t be too long, just have patience, _Nakomoh_.” She didn’t look back, even as Ri’Saad called out to her. Guilt sat in the pit of her stomach for having to leave him in the dark about this, even if it wouldn’t be for very long— the last thing he needed from her was secrecy. But Rijha couldn’t waste any more time. The Jarl needed to know what happened.

She was only stopped by the guards at the gate, “Halt! It’s the middle of the night, khajiit, what business do you have at this hour?”

“I’m here to deliver a message to the Jarl.” She could not see the guard’s expression due to his helmet, but his voice was laced with suspicion.

“Are you with the caravans, Khajiit?”

“No.” The lie slipped easily off her tongue. Still, both guards were apprehensive towards her. She sighed, “Please, I bring urgent news from General Tullius. A village has been completely wiped off the map.”

That certainly got their attention.

The two of them looked at each other and came to some kind of silent agreement, before the one guard turned back to her, “Follow me, khajiit, and no funny business.”

He led her through the gates and up through the city, which was silent at this time of night, with only the watchmen walking through the streets. The Jarl’s palace was hard to miss, standing above all of Whiterun with a grand staircase leading up to it from the district below. It was a building unlike any Rijha had seen before; tall, wooden, and distinctly Nordic, somewhat rustic in a way but still grand.

The other guard must have sent a runner ahead of them, because when they entered into the palace a Dunmer woman stood waiting for them in the foyer, her expression and tone completely unimpressed.

“You’re the messenger from General Tullius?”

“I am.”

The Dunmer looked over Rijha, mostly paying attention to her face, or more likely her tattoos, before speaking again, “I am Irileth, Jarl Balgruuf’s housecarl. Follow me,” she turned to the guard, “you may return to your post.”

Irileth led her up into the great hall, the whole time muttering about how _this better be worth waking up the entirety of Dragonsreach_. The palace’s interior had the same rustic yet grand aesthetic as the exterior. Yellow banners depicting a horse’s head hung from the support beams, and two long dining tables were set up on either side of the hall, with a central firepit that crackled and popped. Against the back wall was the throne where the Jarl currently sat, and above it hung a dragon skull.

Before Rijha would’ve figured it to be a replica, but now she wasn’t so sure.

The Jarl himself was slouched back on his throne, clearly tired and slightly irate, which was perfectly understandable considering the circumstances.

“This better be something vitally important, enough so that it can’t wait until a more appropriate hour. If this is concerning the war then Tullius already knows my stance, and should know that it won’t be changing anytime soon.”

Rijha bowed her head in respect, “My greatest apologies for the inconvenience, my Jarl, but this is nothing concerning the civil war.”

“Then pray tell, what message do you bring?”

“Helgen has been completely destroyed,” she paused to steady her breath, “by a dragon.”

As much as Irileth complained about waking up all of Dragonsreach, there was only the three of them present in the great hall, so Rijha’s announcement was only met with eerie silence.

“Are you certain? How can I know that you’re telling the truth?”

“I swear it on my life, my Jarl, I saw the beast with my own eyes. Ask any resident of helgen, any Imperial soldier stationed there, any prisoner that was due for execution there, they will all tell you the same thing.” If any of them made it out alive, that is, “Send your own soldiers up there if you must, they will find nothing but ash.”

Jarl Balgruuf sat up straight in his throne, all his tiredness and annoyance gone from his face.

“Well, it seems like we have quite the situation on our hands.”

-

Ri’Saad watched as Rijha-Daro lay sleeping in the main tent of the caravan. Or Do’Rirri, he really didn’t know what to think of her as anymore.

As much as he wanted her to be the same young unruly girl that he had known all those years ago, he had to come to terms with the fact that she was very much a different person now. He didn’t realise just how different until they had stopped in the Imperial City on their journey here, and instead of sticking to the side alleys and quieter streets, she had strolled confidently into Green Emperor Way, shaking hands and making small talk with people as she went. When Ri’Saad had suggested making a small detour to the waterfront, she had politely declined without a second thought.

True to her word, she had come back down from Whiterun and explained all that had occurred that day. Of all things they had to worry about now, it had to be bloody dragons. He let out a heavy sigh. It felt like every time she went off on her own _something_ happened. Mostly things that made one’s fur turn grey far too early.

Although, hadn’t it been the exact same case with Kestaba?

That thought made him look towards the lockbox, hidden among his merchandise. It was filled with trinkets, heirlooms, and old drawings, things that should’ve been put to rest with their owners, but he was too sentimental and nostalgic to part with.

Soon, he would give all of it to her, but not yet. He would let her rest for now, after all, the Jarl expected her to return the Dragonsreach in the morning, and there were only a few spare hours of darkness left.

-

“Irileth tells me your tattoos mark you as a warrior of great skill, and if that’s the case then I believe I have a task for you.”

Rijha would very much like to find out how Irileth knows this and why she didn’t bring it up earlier, but she wasn’t in the position to ask those questions before Jarl Balgruuf’s entire court, especially after he had so generously agreed to send aid to Riverwood at her request. So instead, she asks, “What is it that you would have me do?”

Apparently Balgruuf’s court wizard, Farengar, had quite the interest in the subject of dragons, and wanted Rijha to fetch some sort of relic.

“Well, I say fetch, but I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin to search for a stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.”

Rijha leaned against the wizard’s desk, careful not to knock over any stray books or soul gems, “And this will help the dragon situation how?”

“The Dragonstone is said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Might give us a clue on where they’re coming from. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find the tablet, and bring it back. Sound simple?”

“Extremely.”

“Excellent. Oh, and the Jarl has arranged for you to borrow one of the horses from the stables.”

Rijha simply raised her hand in acknowledgement as she moved to leave. The streets of the city were full of chatter and people bustling about. A preacher stood babbling nonsense near a shrine of Talos, and children chased each other around an old, dead tree. It was clear that Whiterun was Skyrim’s centre of trade, as the lowermost district was almost entirely dedicated to stores and market stalls, with vendors calling out about their wares and produce.

Surely enough, when she reached the stables outside of Whiterun the stable master was waiting there for her with a beautiful black mare.

“You know how to ride a horse, Khajiit?”

Rijha reached out to pet the mare’s silky muzzle, “It’s been a long while, but yes.”

“Go easy then, this one’s got a lot of will to ‘er, proper warhorse she is. But she runs like the wind and is as smart as anything, just whistle for ‘er and she’ll come.”

“Does she have a name?”

“Aye, Queen Alfsigr we call ‘er.”

“Alfsigr, suits you well _serush_.” Alfsigr let out a huff of air at that. She was a large horse, so Rijha had to crouch a little before leaping up onto her. Once she had settled into the saddle and her stirrups had been adjusted, they were off, back towards Riverwood and the barrow.

The stable master wasn’t lying about Alfsigr’s speed, as after a few short hours Riverwood was already in sight and they were turning up the mountain path towards Bleak Falls. The further up they went the more snow began to coat the ground until the entire landscape turned monochrome. The dark stone of ancient ruins stood in contrast to the stark white of the mountain it was built into, and the misty grey sky above. A little away from the barrow itself, Rijha brought Alfsigr to a halt and listened. Muffled by the howling wind was the unmistakable sound of snow crunching under footfalls. Quietly, she dismounted.

“You better make yourself scarce _ro’aran_. Neither of us are very well hidden in all this snow.” Rijha gave the mare a little nudge, and was rewarded when she started to meander back down the path. Slowly creeping towards the steps that led up to the ruin, Rijha slipped her cloak off and stuffed it into her pack. The cold nipped at her skin without it, but she couldn’t risk it getting caught on something or giving away her presence.

As she had suspected, the ruin was inhabited by bandits; no one else would have the gall to linger around a place as desolate as this. She moved silently and quickly, refusing to stay in one spot for too long, least the bandits catch a glimpse of her dark fur. Without much of a fuss, Rijha slipped through the doors into the barrow, though her heart fluttered with adrenaline. It had been a long time since she’d snuck past so many people in such an open area. Inside the large entry chamber was a small camp, with two bandits guarding the way leading deeper into the barrow. With no way to sneak past, Rijha swiftly knocked the pair of them unconscious and moved forward.

The ruin was surprisingly simple in its layout. Unlike the Ayleid ruins she had explored in her youth (a foolish thing to do in hindsight) the corridors did not loop around or converge so much that one could easily get lost. Rather, it all seemed to flow in one direction, and any deviation often led to a dead end. Dead ends filled with treasure and gold, mind you, but dead ends nonetheless.

One thing the Nordic and Ayleid ruins did have in common were the traps. Rijha came out through a corridor just in time to see some poor bandit get riddled with arrows after failing a picture puzzle of all things. It was a little pitiful really, the answer was rather obviously displayed on the wall above. Moving past the puzzle there were oversized rats and cobwebs, which was just _wonderful_. Rijha let out a heavy sigh at the thought of having to fight more spiders, and was surprised to hear a voice coming from the next room.

“Is— is someone there? Harknir, is that you? Bjorn? Soling? Look, I know I ran ahead but I need help!” Upon entering the room Rijha saw a Dunmer man, trapped within the webbing that coated the walls. He saw her as well, “What? Who are you? Ugh, never mind, just cut me down from here!”

Though hesitant, Rijha moved towards him, only to stop when the sound of scuttling feet above her pricked at her ears. She looked up, and her fur raised at the sight a spider, bigger than a horse, descending down upon her.

“ _Ziss_.”

She ran back into the previous corridor, the spider hot on her tail and the Dunmer protesting loudly for her to come back. The doorway was too small for the gruesome creature to fit through, but that didn’t stop it from sticking out its front legs in an attempt to reach her. Rijha drew one of her swords and swiftly cut off the squirming limbs, causing the spider to let out a horrid squeal.

There was a burning torch mounted on the wall nearby, which she pulled down and thrusted forward, driving the beast back out away from the corridor, the spider screeching in pain at every lick of flame that caught it. She managed to back it into a corner, before throwing the torch directly into its face. The spider reared back, and Rijha quickly drew her other sword, before plunging both blades up into its sternum. Only when its remaining legs stop twitching did she withdraw, letting its body drop to the floor.

“Oh, sweet breath of Arkay, you killed it! I really thought you were gonna abandon me down here with that thing.”

Rijha sauntered towards the trapped man, “What are you doing down here anyway, _Mormer_?”

“I could ask you the same question, Khajiit.”

“I’m not the one trapped in a spider web.” She had a point and he knew it, Rijha could tell by the look on his face.

“Look, cut me down and I’ll tell you everything, you won’t believe the kind of power the Nords have hidden down here.”

Rijha let him hang there for a little longer. He’s suspicious, clearly a bandit, and she wouldn’t put it past him to either try and run her through or run for the hills, but there’s not much else she can do in this situation. Sighing, she sliced through the webbing, and was not at all surprised when as soon as his feet touched the ground he bolted through the path behind him.

She had barely started to give chase when she heard a click, a swing, and then a cry of pain. When she entered the next room, the Dunmer was lying dead on the ground. _Poor fool_. His pack had been thrown away from his body, something golden sticking out of it. Upon pulling it out, she realised that the golden object was a claw, with three animals carved into the palm; a bear, a moth, and an owl.

Rijha turned to the dead man, “ _Urada_ , _Mormer_ , but you only have yourself to blame for this.”

Something shuffled behind her. Stuffing the claw into her own pack, she spun, swords drawn. The creature before her made her stomach churn. A walking corpse, its flesh half decomposed, ancient armour hanging off its bony form. Draugr, that’s what Hadvar called them. It lunged towards her with surprising speed, but Rijha was faster, and soon it lay dead on the ground. Unfortunately, their short scuffle attracted the attention of more draugr, and suddenly there were three of them moving towards her. As she stepped back, something gave way under her foot, which she quickly lifted before it could fully click down. Another trap. Quick and nimble, she moved over the pressure plate and into the mouth of the next hallway, looking back at the draugr rushing after her. A click, and a wall of spikes swung out, throwing all three of them back to their deaths.

Rijha moved quickly on, flitting through the catacombs and caverns that made up the rest of the barrow, quick to cut down any more undead that blocked her path. She was a constant flurry of movement, not wanting to lose her momentum. If she ignored the fact that it was literal corpses that she was fighting, she might call the experience therapeutic, meditative even. Perhaps once she finished her business here she should find the time to meditate properly; the events of the day prior had made her tense, weighted down with worry and fear of what was to come next.

Eventually she came upon a door, or at least what she assumed to be a door. It was large, with circular patterns and golden accents. There were three moveable bands carved with animals and an impression of a claw in the centre. Pulling out the golden claw from her pack, Rijha looked between the animal carvings on the claw’s palm and the door’s bands.

The ancient Nords sure did like their picture puzzles.

She turned the bands— bear, moth, owl— and pressed the claw into the impression. The claw twisted, like a key in a lock, and when she pulled it out the door sunk down into the ground. The room behind it, the barrow’s inner sanctum, was a grand cavern held up by pillars of stone, with natural light streaming down from the ceiling. In the centre of the cavern was a large dais, with a grand carved stone wall standing tall upon it. Rijha really hoped that wasn’t the Dragonstone Farengar wanted.

On closer inspection the carving on the wall seemed to be some kind of text, its letters made up of strong bold strokes, as if it had been scratched into the rock by some large creature’s talons. One word stuck out to her, right in the middle of the wall. Three letters. For some reason, the word ‘force’ came to mind.

“ _Fus_.”

How did she know that? Had she seen it somewhere before? Read it in a book? No, the script on the wall was too unique, too different from any other language she had seen before, she would’ve remembered it if she had seen it somewhere else. So why was she so sure of what it said?

Her thoughts were quickly interrupted when a loud bang rang out behind her. She spun around in surprise and saw a tomb sitting on the other side of the dais. Its lid had been completely thrown off. The draugr that climbed out was larger than all the rest she had faced, and clearly stronger. Rijha drew her swords and moved to attack; she wanted to make this fight quick and painless. She wasn’t ready for the shout it let out, the force of it sent her flying backwards into the wall, shockwaves running up her spine at the impact. She bit back a cry. So much for making this painless. The draugr’s blade swung down on her, Rijha barely managing to roll out of its way. Her body protested at the movement, but she couldn’t afford to stop now, so instead she jumped down from the dais in hopes of finding cover in the shadows.

Quick to follow, the draugr descended, but Rijha had already hidden herself away in the darkness. She watched as it shambled around the cavern, searching. It would never find her. As soon as its back was turned she moved to strike. _Soft as a whisper, quick as a shout_. One blade stabbed through the draugr’s chest, the other slicing through its neck, and its body crumpled to the ground. Rijha allowed herself a moment to breathe, only to hiss as pain shot through her body. Restoration at her skill wouldn’t help much, and she didn’t want to use up her only potion, so she’d just have to deal with it for now.

She returned to dais and found a small stone tablet within the draugr’s tomb. Surely, that must have been the Dragonstone she was after. Rijha wasted no time in leaving, the far side of the sanctum housing a staircase that led up to a shortcut back out of the barrow. Once she was on the mountain path she let out a long whistle, and sure enough Alfsigr came galloping up to her. Rijha patted the mare on the neck as she mounted, “How about spending the night in Riverwood, _serush_? The sun will be setting soon.” Alfsigr let out a nicker before they were off trotting down the mountain.

When they rode into Riverwood, Alvor was out working to forge with Dorthe sat nearby. The young girl looked up at them and gasped, causing her father to turn his head. As soon as he caught a glimpse of Rijha he laughed, “I think that horse might be a bit too big for you, friend.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about Alvor, Queen Alfsigr is the perfect size.” She looked around the town as she dismounted, “Have the guards from Whiterun arrived yet?”

“Aye, handful of them got here a little while ago, they’re setting up camp just outside the southern gate. Thank you, you’ve done a great service for Riverwood.”

“ _Sajoh vaba thjiz_ , I just had a friendly chat with the Jarl and fetched him a rock from an ancient Nordic tomb, nothing too heroic.” Speaking of things she found in a Nordic tomb, “I have to drop off some items at the trader before I head to the inn, perhaps we can speak later.”

“Ah, don’t bother with the inn. Delphine, the owner, left earlier today on some business, and you won’t be able to rent a room while she’s gone. You’re more than to spend the night at ours though.”

“Your kindness knows no bounds, _trevan_.”

When she presented the golden claw to the shopkeep at the trader, his jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Him and his sister gave her endless thanks, rewarding her with a generous amount of coin and happily buying any jewels and trinkets she had found at Bleak Falls. She didn’t sell everything, there were some that she wanted to sell in Whiterun and others that she would give to Ri’Saad.

The rest of the evening passed by in peace, Alvor and Sigrid were just as hospitable as they were the day before, if not more so. Dorthe had started to come out of her shell a bit more, even asking Rijha to teach her a few words in Ta’agra. Hadvar was surprised to find her back in Riverwood so soon, and she wasted no time in recounting her venture into Bleak Falls Barrow. Before she knew it the night had arrived, and she was sat in one of two makeshift beds in the cellar, writing the events of the past two days into her fresh journal. When she had finished and blown out the last of the candlelight she settled, sleep coming easily to her.

-

She dreamed of standing on clouds, the sky endless and empty.

“Are you ready?” There was a man standing beside her, with kind eyes and a soft voice. His hair was streaked with grey, and he wore clothing fitting that of an Emperor. A large red gem sat at his chest. She feels like she should know his name, but she couldn’t quite remember it.

“Ready for what?”

“To find out who you really are.”

“I already know who I am.”

“Do you? Why are you here then?”

She did not answer, only looked away out into the expanse of white and blue. When she looked back, the man was gone, and in his place stood a golden dragon, though she was much more familiar with it when it stood lifeless and grey in the Imperial City’s temple district.

“The world will soon rest within your hands, Malkaaztafiir, you must promise that you will take good care of it.”

Malkaaztafiir. She has been called that name before. But when? And by who?

The next moment the dragon was gone, and she was left alone in the clouds.

-

Rijha woke with a start, her heart pounding and breathing heavy. She looked across the room where Hadvar was sleeping completely unfazed.

Good.

She had to leave. To deliver the Dragonstone of course, no other reason. None at all. She collected herself for a moment before gathering up all her stuff and quietly sneaking away. She made sure to leave a coin purse and a note on the dining table as she left; a thank you and repayment for the gold Alvor gave her. The sky was still dark; Nobody would be awake for another few hours. It wasn’t long before she and Alfsigr were back on the road to Whiterun, riding through the early morning as Rijha tried to push down the rising dread in her gut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta'agra Translations:  
>  Rajhin kodesh - Rajhin's shadow  
>  Nakomoh - Uncle, not blood related (Lit. Not-Uncle)  
>  Serush - Beautiful  
>  Ro'aran - Queen  
>  Mormer - Dunmer  
>  Urada - Sorry  
>  Sajoh vaba thjiz - Don't be foolish  
>  Trevan - Friend


End file.
